Chapter 64
Sixty-Four
Our breath mingles in frosted plumes. “Why would I marry someone who can’t decide whether they want me dead or alive?
You could murder me at any time. Fae above!
How do you know I won’t kill you first? What sort of marriage would that be?
” My eyes burn. I squeeze them shut, but the tears roll down my cheeks all the same.
His fingers brush my cheeks dry as he whispers, “Because we’re already bound by one curse. What’s one more?”
“You can’t just ignore reality and hope it’ll go away.”
“I’m well aware, but we can worry about the curse between our families after we take back Alexandria.
After we right wrongs. The enemy of my enemy is my friend—or, in your case, potentially my lady wife.
” Shadows fall from his shoulders in great swaths.
He lingers on the word wife before adding, “So make me your fool husband.”
I openly scoff, rolling my eyes.
“My, my, your eyes scorn me, but not long ago you were my courtesan in name only. Going forward, you’ll be my Witch-Queen in name only as well.
As you’ve reminded me before, I have no money, my castle crumbles, and my people suffer—but you will live another day at my side.
I won’t be persuaded against you, and since I’ll never carry on my legacy through blood heirs, you need not burden yourself with guilt in that regard.
Save your affection for those you truly desire.
I’ll not bar you from taking lovers to satisfy your nights. ”
I stare at him, stunned. “You don’t mind if I fuck Lir; you just don’t want me to marry him?”
Ashland gives me a hardened stare. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what? What?”
“Don’t you see? We were made for each other, two mutually destructive people with a purpose to see this to the end.”
“And if you change your mind and regret this? If you grow to love someone else and I’m in the way?”
Ashland rubs his beard. “I traded love for survival long ago. It’s not something I seek. My people are my greatest concern.”
My heart aches at the quiet despair in his words. I touch his arm. “Survival doesn’t make you undeserving of love… but I don’t want to be punished when you figure that out.” I try not to think of all the lies—all the hurt—all the manipulation that built the bridge to where we stand right now.
Ashland bitterly shakes his head. “Some people are not destined to have everything in life, not when their destiny lies in something far greater.” He searches my face. “So what will it take for you to agree? Tell me what you desire, and I’ll give it to you.”
My nails dig into my palms. “You promised me that you would bring me to Alexandria.”
“And I intend to uphold it.”
My words come out in a rush, embarrassingly high-pitched. “I’m sorry, but I need more reassurances.”
“I’ve already promised,” he says slowly and quietly. “Do you not believe me?”
I don’t answer.
Ashland looks at me wearily, his mouth drawing into a set line.
“It’s what Rett offered me in exchange for agreeing to his marriage proposal. Are you truly willing to do the same?”
“I don’t care if I have to remind you of my promises every day. You have my word today and tomorrow,” he says, tilting my chin upward with his fingertip. “You’ll become the Witch-Queen of Ashland because if I don’t marry you, someone else will, and I simply won’t allow that.”
“A marriage in name only,” I repeat his earlier offer of abstinence.
“In name only,” he agrees, his touch lingering.
“And you’ll be truthful from now on?”
“From here on, I promise not to lie to you, Tabitha.”
“I have one last stipulation.”
His eyebrow quirks. “Oh, good. I thought you might’ve run out,” he says, giving me a sardonic smile.
I bite my lip. “When it’s time for me to leave, you won’t stop me?” It shouldn’t be hard for him. He’s let me go before.
Snowflakes cling to Ashland’s eyelashes as his lips part, but he quickly nods all the same.
* * *
Lir and Ashland argue outside the cottage, but I purposefully try not to listen, attempting to tamp down my keen hearing.
It doesn’t work. In fact, I don’t think anyone in a fifty-foot radius could prevent themselves from hearing.
Muffled voices drift through the thin window panes, their tones growing more and more heated.
“Don’t you care that I love her?”
“No, I don’t. Political arrangements supersede personal desires.” A long beat of silence. “It’s a marriage of convenience. No more, no less. But perhaps some good will come from it if it unites us to find a way to end the war.”
“A marriage won’t break the curse. Your people will still suffer whether there’s a war or not. You aren’t to be trusted with her.”
“She has no choice but to trust me for the time being, and so do you. Why would I harm her when she’s not the last remaining Metalla? There’s still her uncle, her cousin, and now an unborn baby, making Tabitha’s death premature at best, with no different outcome.”
I bite the inside of my lip, drawing blood. My breathing grows heavy.
“You speak callously as if she isn’t a living, breathing woman who deserves more compassion than a delayed execution.”
“I speak the truth—”
“When you break her, don’t be fooled; I’ll be there, waiting to pick up the broken pieces like I always do. You’ll never—”
I avert my attention by watching Valora. Somehow, she’s scraped together some dresses volunteered by the local womenfolk. At least I won’t be married in my wool nightgown.
She holds up two simple linen gowns, one dyed forest green and the other faded black. “I know they aren’t much, but the women were eager to help.”
I touch the soft, flowing fabrics, forcing myself to focus on the clothing rather than the jealousy and resentment still rising outside. “They’re perfect,” I assure her. “I must remember to thank them for their generosity.” My words feel hollow and distant.
“They would love that. Everyone is… umm… clamoring to meet the new Witch-Queen.” Valora seems sincere, but I don’t believe her. Her worry is plain behind her tight, plastered-on smile.
I watch the Cliodna through the window. “Have the healers brought Rett’s fever down yet?” I ask, but a sinking feeling in my stomach already knows the answer.
“Slightly. Last time I checked, he was sleeping, which is good.”
I hear Lir yell, “…marry her then, but don’t expect me to watch…”
Valora’s expression grows serious. “Are you certain this is the path you wish to take?”
“Honestly? No—but I’ll choose it just the same.” She hugs me, and I let out a little laugh-cry, telling her, “At least I’ll stop receiving marriage proposals if I marry Ashland.”
“My girl, I don’t see any way around it this time.
But at least look on the bright side: more time for training,” Valora says resignedly.
After a moment of contemplation, her voice grows low.
“You know, as Witch-Queen, you’ll have the freedom to train your powers to their full extent.
The Witch-Queen is co-ruler, not bound to the rule of the Witch-King. ”
That sentiment slowly sinks into me as I mull over the implications. “Valora, why are you always so kind to me? After all my stupid decisions, don’t you tire of me?” I ask, trying not to get choked up.
“I save my anger for the battlefield and my composure for my friends. The men could learn a thing or two if they implemented the same patience—seeing how we all make mistakes.”
Friends?
My stomach squirms. “I keep thinking that Ashland is making a terrible mistake. What if your sister comes back…”
Valora looks at me sympathetically. “That was a long time ago, and many things have changed since then.”
“Will you tell me what happened?”
“Zarina found her true calling in midwifery and returned home to the Solarian Court to pursue her dream of being a mother. Something Ash could never give her. Promise me you won’t worry about her. She’s living her life, and so should you—so should Ash.”
Outside, the shouts rise to a crescendo before abruptly stopping. Valora and I share a worried glance.
“At least that part is over,” I whisper as guilt twists around me for rejecting Lir once again.
Valora clears her throat and motions toward the garments that are still draped across her arm.
My hand still aches, but I’m getting better at hiding my pain, only wincing for a second as I close my eyes and blindly select the faded black gown with silver stitching.
It seems fitting in a way, as this feels more like a Death Ceremony than a wedding.
My heart races as she helps me get ready, carefully fastening each clasp and lacing the black ribbon on the bodice. All of this would end in misery and death, no matter what I choose.
“Are you all set?” Valora asks, tying a matching velvet ribbon around my neck as I release my hair into loose spirals.
Looking back at the shelves of ingredients and herbs, I nod as I replace my circlet. Not wanting to linger, I open the cottage door only to meet Rett’s sweating and scowling face staring back at me.
Rett sways unsteadily in the doorway, his orange, feverish eyes burning with turmoil. Burgundy hair sticks to his forehead. He blocks my path with his arm, which ends abruptly in a bandaged stump tinged with red.
“How can you marry him?” His voice strains and rasps. “After refusing me? Am I really that repulsive to you?” He clutches at the dirty, sweat-stained clothing hanging off of his weak body.
I stiffen, clasping Valora’s steadying hand, searching for the right words. He slams his fist into the exterior wall, his face contorting as debris and snow fall.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I whisper. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to fix it now, for the both of us.”
“Don’t you see? If you marry him, he wins—” He sways closer, the stench of fever and body odor emanating from him.
“Mind yourself and return to the ship, princeling,” Valora warns.
He ignores her, staring desperately at me. “Please, Tabitha... don’t do this...”
Lir’s stern voice cuts in, “That’s enough.” He strides around the house, one hand on his cutlass as he grasps Rett’s shoulder with the other. “It’s time to leave.”
One withering look at the cutlass that previously severed his arm is all it takes. Rett shoves Lir in the chest, then sways back and forth aggressively before lurching toward me. Not wanting to be pinned against the cottage wall, I scurry into the snowy yard, shaking.
Rett throws a wild punch. Lir deflects easily, catching Rett’s fist in his grip. Over Rett’s frustrated growls, Lir shouts, “Calm yourself! The fever clouds your judgment.”
Spit flying from his mouth, Rett roars, “How do you fight like this if you’re blind? What sort of magic is this?”
“I need neither magic nor sight to hear your sloppy movements—to smell your rotting blood.”
Hurtling toward me again, Rett clings to my skirts.
Lir comes from behind, twisting Rett’s injured arm, forcing him to his buckled knees deep into the snow. I turn away, unable to watch. “This has gone far enough. You are going back to the ship,” Lir says through gritted teeth.
Rett wrenches free, seeming more like a wild beast with every passing second. “Don’t touch me!” He staggers, clutching his wounded arm before fleeing with surprising speed into the shadow of the snowy woods.
Listening to the snow crunching away from us, Lir moves to pursue his trail, but I touch his shoulder. “Don’t force him.”
Leaning on the cottage door, Valora says, “She’s right. He’ll only hurt himself or others in our care. This is a healing journey only he can take now.”
Lir stands next to me, his face toward the sea. “When this ends badly, know that I’ll always be your sanctuary.” He delicately touches my hand before marching toward the ship.
I steel myself and step into the cold, dusky sunlight in the opposite direction.